WHEN SHE ASKS ME FOR A POEM

When she asks me for a poem She expects me to write of her lovely eyes The place I call home Her soft laughter, where all my fears disappear. She expects me to write of her strength How the world bends her, but never breaks her. Of her gentle touch How she calms the storms inside m The glow of her tender skin, guiding me through the dark. She expects me to write of how she loves me How she expands my world How I pour my quiet fears into her hands The ones no one else can see or hear. But I choose not to. That's for the world to judge. When I write her a poem I’ll write of the roads she’s walked The paths I know too well. Of how her embrace becomes my quiet song. I’ll write of her full heart Hiding beneath her half chest Of my admiration for her little breasts The tenderness of her thighs The little devils dancing in her brown eyes. I’ll write of the strength in her soul How people see her smile, but not the battles She fights behind closed doors. They see her grace, but not the tears That shaped it. When I write her a poem I’ll write of her vulnerability The world sees her as fearless But only I know the weight of her worries The trembling softness she never shows. I’ll write of her creative mind Her Genuis when she assumes. Her dreams painting the sky in colors No one else could ever name. I’ll write of her humor People see her calm, composed face But I know the laughter that bubbles over When she tells those little jokes just for me. I’ll write of everything Her deepest desires, her greatest fantasies. People see her as certain and sure But I hear the quiet whispers She speaks into the dark. I’ll write about everything.